Warm & Cold
by samurai-ashes
Summary: [BakuraxRyou] Bakura and Ryou contemplate snow, and each other...


**_Ashes does not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_**

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**- warnings -**  
fluff...ish. OOC? POV flips. 

**- author says... -**  
This story was just scratching at the back of my mind until I finally wrote it; I got the idea while I was posting "Winter Safety". I like it… I think. It was sort of hard to write; I don't usually do first person, but it seemed to be the best way to show emotion for this story, and that's really what I think this story is all about. But it was hard for me to keep up with my tenses (I kept messing up and slipping from present to past), so let me know if you see any problems. 

Yea, the story does POV flips between Bakura and Ryou, and - in case its not obvious (I tried to make it as obvious as possible) - it goes Bakura, Ryou, Bakura. ^_^ Okay, now that THAT'S out of the way… 

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I shiver, but I don't wrap my arms around myself, or do anything to get warm. Not being able to handle a little cold is a weakness, and I'm not weak. 

I'm perched in the window of Ryou's bedroom, several stories up. It makes me a little nervous, but I don't focus on it. Instead, I watch the snow. 

It began to snow this afternoon, just a light dusting of white to cover the land. Now the snow is heavier, thick, with snowflakes so large that I can't help stare in awe. How much could the clouds hold? 

I hold out my hand, catching some snowflakes in my palm. Almost immediately they melt, and nothing is left of them but dampness on my hand. 

I hate cold, but I don't entirely hate snow. There's something about it, the way it falls, the way it looks, even the way it feels - soft, yet so cold - that makes me less inclined to loathe it like I do the winter months. Interesting. It reminds me of Ryou. 

There's a vague physical resemblance, but on in color: white, so very pale. But beyond color, both are also lovely, with a certain shining quality that I can only see from a certain angle. 

Beyond physical similarity… Ryou is frail, weak, just like the snow that melted in my hand. I know that just as I destroyed that snow, I can destroy Ryou. 

Warmth. That's a big difference between Ryou and the snow. Ryou is a warm creature, nearly incapable of the heart-stopping chill of snow. Whenever I feel his warmth, I'm reminded of the startling coldness of our relationship, of myself. He's warm like my palm, and maybe he's just as capable of melting me as I am him… 

Damn. The boy makes me weak, makes me think silly thoughts. 

"Bakura." I turn to see him standing in the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed over each other. "Come in from the cold; you'll catch a chill." 

--

It started snowing hard while I was walking home. I love the snow. It makes everything clean, pure, makes the world bright. Maybe the moment is fleeting before people mar and melt that beauty, but for that moment, those few precious hours, when the snow is new and white… it's worth it. 

I'm eager to get home, but I walk slower to enjoy the snow. After all, the only thing I have at home is Bakura, and he probably won't care if I'm home later than usual. He probably won't even notice. 

I sit on the curb outside the apartment building where I live and watch the snow. My mind is on Bakura. My mind is almost always on Bakura. Come to think of it, Bakura is like snow. 

Cold like snow. He hardly ever shows me any affection, not outside of bed, and even **then** he's far from the most loving partner in the world. He doesn't hold me, or cuddle me, or worry about me! 

He's harsh too. I don't think he ever hesitates to yell when angry, or to berate me when he thinks I need it. Snow has that same dark side, the side that numbs my fingers and lips, makes my cheeks and nose and ears sting with pain. Bakura can hurt me like that too, make me sting… 

There's an element of danger to snow that can't be overlooked. It can be a graceful killer, capable of burying me, freezing me to nothing more than a meat popsicle. Yes, snow could kill me, swift and clean and - oh! - so elegant and graceful while it's at it. I know that Bakura can be a deadly, and without such finesse… 

…Maybe that's a little harsh. I don't think Bakura could ever hurt me. When he kisses me, I know how he feels. In fact, his kisses are a bit like snow too: precious, beautiful, all too brief, soon overshadowed by the darker aspects of his personality. And just as snow can be gentle, light and fluffy, so can Bakura. I've seen him smile - when he thinks I can't see. In fact, far from loving is a bad description of Bakura. When he thinks I'm asleep he'll touch my skin, hesitant and feather-soft. He'll kiss my hair and mumble to himself about weaknesses. Then he'll leave. I'll fall asleep alone, and I'll wake up alone. Sometimes he's not home, other times he's asleep in an armchair, or on the couch. 

I shiver and sniffle. It's too cold to stay out any longer. Hesitantly I go into the apartment building, climbing the stairs quickly, eager to get to my warm apartment and get something to eat. 

The second I arrive in the apartment I lock the door behind me and toss my jacket onto the floor, kick off my shoes, ignore the loud thump as they hit the wall. All the lights are off, and Bakura is nowhere in sight. He must not be home. That's not new… 

I go to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. At the doorway I pause. Bakura is sitting on the windowsill, sitting in the dark and staring out into the night. He looks pensive, and I almost don't want to interrupt his thoughts. 

I smile, cross my arms against the chill of the room. I love him, despite all his pitfalls. 

"Bakura," I say, and he turns to look at me. He looks a little surprised. "Come in from the cold; you'll catch a chill." 

--

I take Ryou's advice and get out of the window, closing it behind me. He looks cold. I don't go to warm him, but only watch as he takes a blanket from the bed and leaves the room. "Come on, its warmer in the living room," he says as he walks away. "You must be cold, sitting in the window like that. You can get warm, and I can make something hot to eat. Maybe some hot cocoa… do you like hot cocoa?" I follow wordlessly. I can tell he's cold by the goose bumps on his arms, yet he's talking to me as though he doesn't matter. He pounces the second I'm near him, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders and shoving me onto the couch before he goes to the kitchen. 

I don't understand him sometimes. I think in the silence, a little lost in thought before I hear something that bothers me. Ryou is coughing. 

"Hey!" I call out, and he pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway. 

"Hm?" 

I demand, "Who made you sick?" I'll make him wish he had never- 

"Oh, no one. I always get sick this time of year, when the snow settles. It's only a cold." He returns to the kitchen, humming to himself. He's in a strangely good mood. 

The snow can make Ryou sick? That seems like a good reason not to like it… "A cold?" I mull over this some more. I have never seen Ryou sick before, and I don't like it. "Come here." 

After a moments pause he comes to stand near the couch, looking down at me curiously. "What is it?" 

"If you have a cold, you should be warming too." He stares at me as though I'm speaking another language, so I give up trying to explain and yank him down onto the couch. He lands awkwardly in my lap, and I pull the blanket around us, holding him as best I can. He doesn't move, a bewildered look on his face, stunned to silence. "Does this cold make you stiff too?" I asked softly. I can't hold him if he's like stone. 

"Oh!" He snaps out of it and quickly curls against me, his eyes fluttering closed as his head finds a comfortable resting place on my chest. "No." I don't speak, don't know what I'd say. It's odd enough just to hold him without wanting anything else. It's a little unnerving... 

It's nice. 

Ryou fills the silence. "You know, I've always loved snow." 

"Why? If it makes you sick, you should hate it." 

"No. No matter how sick I get, I'll always love snow." He yawns. 

"Sleep," I command, stroking his hair softly. He purrs a little. 

"I don't want to sleep through this." 

He can be so ridiculous sometimes. Then again, how often do I do something like this? …I guess his want to stay awake is logical. 

"You're foolish. If you're sick you need to sleep, even I know that." 

"I'd rather just lie here." He sounds like he's pouting. 

I sigh. Contentedly. Pull him a little closer. "Fine." I pause, close my eyes. Smile. "Fool." 

-end-


End file.
